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Onja tossed her long white hair and glanced over her shoulder at Shan. “Await me in the throne room,” she commanded.

Blue fire sparked in her eyes, and Shan knew she used her magical mind to call her servants. He excused himself and left her to prepare for a day at court.

Onja, despite her perennial eagerness to receive her tribute from the humans, took her time arriving at the throne room. Shan stood at the base of her dais. This was his place. No other rys presided over court with the Queen. He alone was allowed to look out upon her subjects with the throne at his back.

Yet Shan realized that this was the extent of his privilege. He understood that there was only one throne in Jingten. Onja was supreme, above all other rys, and their rightful ruler.

As if to remind himself of this, Shan looked behind him. Polished stone steps rose to a golden throne where Onja had sat for approaching two millennia. Thinking of her power that had stamped her name upon this age of the world, Shan felt humbled by his youth. At one mere century, he was only just considered mature and no longer a rysling. So young, yet not another rys matched his power.

So young, and so alone—except for Onja.

Shan’s heart quickened when he sensed her approach. Shan followed her brilliant lifeforce with his mind as she left her private chambers. His eyes became unfocused to his physical surroundings and blue energy glowed from his pupils as he viewed her remotely. She walked alone through the passages and glided down steps worn smooth by centuries of quiet traffic. Sunshine poured through skylights and shimmered on her hair and jewels.

Onja easily sensed Shan’s admiring presence. “Shan,” her mind murmured to him affectionately, and he was pleased by her approval.

Shan withdrew his senses and simply waited with the eight rys guards posted in the throne room. Blue light from the large warding crystal orbs mounted in the corners mimicked a bright sky, and once the humans arrived, the light would cast their kneeling shadows upon the marble floor.

Two door wardens clothed in green suede uniforms studded with silver opened the doors from the outside and Queen Onja strode in unattended. She locked eyes with Shan, seemingly glad that he was there to receive her.

The sight of her, ready to hold court, rewarded Shan’s excitement. He believed no power could be as awesome as her power. All the way through her being burned a great energy that linked with the forces of nature. She was capable of terrible sorcery or the most subtle trick of pleasure. And the centuries had only put the slightest blunt on her beauty. Her face no longer had the sharp features of a younger rys. As the storming wind could shape a boulder, so time had softened her face.

Today she wore a dark green gown, tight fitting in the bodice and flowing around her legs. A second net-like necklace of large diamonds glittered over her collar bones. Her flowing mane of white hair was tamed beneath a headdress of alabaster and lapis lazuli beads fitted with more diamonds. She was as perfect as the Jingten Valley from its verdant alpine forests to its icy peaks.

Shan knew the humans would be in awe of her even more than he was. Shan kneeled before her as she reached the dais, and Onja dipped her head to him.

She settled onto her throne as if it nourished her and arranged her skirts around her booted feet with a sweeping flourish.

“Shall we see what our half-wit Zenglawa King has scraped together for us?” Onja said.

Shan stood up. “You did bid him last year to do better,” Shan recalled.

“Indeed I did,” Onja said. “Now pay attention, Shan. I would have you learn from me today.”

“Yes, Onja,” he said solemnly, wondering what there was to learn from a tribute delivery. The humans were usually reverent, frightened even, and eager to complete their errand. He had seen this ritual for decades now and it hardly interested him.

Onja signaled to her Captain of the Guard and he collected the Zenglawa delegation. King Telender entered with his entourage. A dozen warriors in their finest clothes and armor attended the Zenglawa King, who had also brought three of his wives. A floor-length sleeveless black robe trimmed in fox fur rippled from Telender’s shoulders. His crown was a simple circlet of gold. Beneath his robe was a shirt of chainmail, polished and unmarked by actual battle, and the horn handles of his sword and dagger glinted with inlaid silver and gold.

Telender’s honor guards were well matched like expensive pairs of carriage horses. They were of equal height and they wore deep blue capes pinned at their right shoulders with brooches bearing the fox face symbol of Telender’s royal line. The men had not worn their helmets and they had straight black hair cut just above their shoulders.

The brown eyes of the warriors stole glances at the tremendous Goddess Queen, but for the most part, the Zenglawa warriors kept their eyes down like the royal wives.

The three women were all beautiful in their own ways. The brown skin of their faces was smooth with youth. One woman had a rounder face and fuller lips than the two oval-faced women. The middle woman was taller than the others and her haughty high cheekbones radiated pride. Her green sash and headdress that wrapped her neck and head marked her as a Zenglawa first wife and the queen of her tribe. The third woman had a fuller softer build, likely from a recent pregnancy.

They wore black, but their green or yellow sashes and headdresses brightened them among their darkly clad men.

Telender was still a young King. No white mixed with his shining black hair. His shoulders were broad and his back straight, but his manly strength meant little before the throne of Onja.

His servants trundled forth three chests to set before the dais. They thudded heavily when set down on the marble floor. Before withdrawing, the servants opened the chests. One contained a mound of raw gold nuggets and powder, recently coaxed from the streams of Gyhwen. The second chest contained precious gems, semi-precious gems, fine crystals and ores. Every mineral color sparkled from the pleasing pile. In the third chest were furs and bolts of exquisitely fine cloth dyed with the rarest colors. Purples, striking blues, orange, red and soft pastel pink mingled among the luxurious splendor of animal skins.

Onja spoke. “Telender of the Zenglawa, you are wise to bear your Goddess gifts. The fortunes of your tribe would diminish without my blessings.”

Telender kneeled and his entourage went to their knees behind him, servant, warrior and wife alike. With his head bowed, Telender said, “Queen Onja, my Goddess, it is my pleasure to deliver the fine offerings of my tribe. Your acceptance of them does us honor.”

“Acceptance?” Onja repeated. The word rolled from her throat like thunder threatening a wedding day. She took her eyes from the treasure boxes, where they were normally apt to linger, and said, “I have not said that I accept this or am satisfied.” NEXT PAGE >>>